


Maybe Next Year

by evilythedwarf



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, New Year's Eve, Steggy Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 15:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17266640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilythedwarf/pseuds/evilythedwarf
Summary: “Looking forward to the New Year, Captain?”





	Maybe Next Year

**Author's Note:**

  * For [georgefitzwilliam](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=georgefitzwilliam).



> December 31st 1944 – January 1st 1945

 

 A year ago, exactly, she’d been cold. She’d been cold and somewhat annoyed at the bandage wrapped around her right hand, the product of a badly landed punch that was totally deserved, in her opinion, but completely unnecessary in Colonel Phillips’ and had resulted in her staying in London, very much against her will, until she was healed enough to go back to the continent. She’d been cold and annoyed and alone in the London flat she only very occasionally used and where she still felt somewhat a stranger.

 

A year ago she made it to midnight, on pure stubbornness, and she told herself that soon it was going to be different. Soon she was going to make plans, and try to live a life that was more than the next injury, and more than the next mission. Soon she was going to be able to think about the future as something attainable instead of the nebulous concept that they all clung to in order to justify their fight.

 

A year ago, she’d been alone, and she had told herself that there was no one, really that she wanted or needed to be with. No one at all. But before she’d finally gone to bed, she’d stood by her kitchen table and traced the index finger of her injured hand over the border between France and Belgium, and she’d allowed herself a smile. Soon, she’d thought.

 

Today she was cold as well, and there was no reason, not at all, for her to be anything less than annoyed at the delay in their plans that caused them to be here, stranded in the Middle of Nowhere, camping in the woods deep inside enemy territory and with only Steve Rogers for company.

 

Today, she needed to work very dutifully on being worried and angry at this turn of events. She couldn’t, for example, turn her eyes upward and admire the winter sky, or cast them sideways and notice the nearly perfect profile of Steve’s face under the moonlight. That wouldn’t do at all.

 

She leaned against a tree feeling the bark against her skull, and took a deep breath. And tried very hard to be angry at the situation.

 

Steve opened his mouth to speak but she quickly shushed him. It would be more difficult to be annoyed if he started to talk.

 

“It’s New Year’s Eve,” he said anyway.

 

 “I’m sure it’s already 1945 somewhere,” she sighed.

 

He sat down next to her and nudged their campfire with his foot, sparking the embers into life.

 

“Well, this is hardly a party,” he said.

 

“Could be worse,” she told him. They could have been captured, or killed, instead of just getting separated from the rest of the team.

 

“Could be better,” he countered.

 

She closed her eyes but could still hear the smile in his voice when he spoke next.

 

“It’s 5 minutes till midnight.”

 

“Mhm hmm,” she answered. “How exciting.”

 

She cracked her eyes open and saw him fumbling with something shiny, and for a second she thought it might be that bloody compass, but it’s a watch instead.

 

“Looking forward to the new year, Captain?”

 

“Maybe. Maybe I’m just looking forward to midnight.”

 

“Big plans, have you?”

 

He didn’t reply, but he didn’t move away either and she could almost hear the clock ticking in his hands.

 

“Not really,” he said.

 

“Not really,” she agreed and she looked at him, directly at him, for the first time since they’d finished setting up camp. He looked back at her and smiled, a small smile, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

 

“It’s cold,” she said.

 

“It is.”

 

“And we’re late,” she added.

 

“We are.”

 

“And we might be lost.”

 

“We’re not lost, Peggy, we’re just a little off course.”

 

“These are terrible circumstances for a New Year’s Eve party, Steve. I hardly think it’s even appropriate to be celebrating.”

 

“You’re right,” he told her, nodding. He fidgeted with his watch again, and she almost asked how much time until midnight. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her middle, to keep them from reaching out and doing something silly.

 

“War won’t last forever,” he said. “Even if it seems it will.”

 

He was right, of course.

 

One way or the other, war would be over. Soon, if she had anything to say about it. She had faith enough, still, to believe that.

 

“Can’t possibly be much longer,” she said, halfway believing it.

 

“Maybe next year,” he started, “there might even be a reason to celebrate.”

 

“Maybe so.”

 

“Maybe even go out and dance,” whispered, though no one could have possibly heard him but her.

 

“Maybe even that,” she whispered back, not quite sure she wanted to put it in words just yet.

 

Next year, things might be better. Next year she might wear a pretty dress and drink champagne, startle at the sound of fireworks instead of gunshots, count down until midnight and receive the year with more than just hope and faith, maybe even with the knowledge that it had all been worth it. Next year was so far away.

 

She could feel Steve, always so warm, next to her, and she reminded herself she was very angry and very uncomfortable, and she pressed the tips of her fingers against her ribcage, and when that wasn’t enough to keep her from touching him she stood up and paced around the campfire.

 

Next year she might be warm and wrapped up in blankets, in front of a fire. She might drink hot chocolate and stay up reading until it was time to ring in the New Year. She might not be alone, so much, next year. If she was lucky. If they both were.

 

Steve stood up, and walked to where she was. She pressed her nails against her palms and dared looking up at him. He was so near she could have counted his eyelashes.

 

“Peggy?”

 

“Steve?”

 

“Happy New Year’s.”


End file.
